


save your heart, take your soul

by readfah_cwen



Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 17:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4530852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readfah_cwen/pseuds/readfah_cwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with the moving vans that come on a Friday, ending with Blaine caught up in the whirlwind of his enigmatic, older neighbour, Sebastian Smythe -- a story of wolves, and trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	save your heart, take your soul

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Seblaine Week 2015! Yes, I managed to get something out! Claps and snaps! This is for Day 6: FAIRYTALE. Based off Little Red Riding Hood, though perhaps the more sexually charged versions, and very loosely. The themes are there, okay!
> 
> Warnings: age difference (22/~30), death - both human and animal, blood, and consent issues wrt ‘the bite’ but not b/w seb and b

The moving vans came on a Friday.

Blaine watched from his bedroom window, which faced the old house that sat on the corner. It was an antique of a building, old and proud, with stark black wood cradling the rusty-blood colour of the bricks, a mini mansion fit for city living. It had stood empty for ages, slowly sagging into itself without tending, but a few years ago the owner had finally had it restored. The (new? no one was sure) owner was a figurative ghost -- and in his more fanciful moments, Blaine pictured a real one, ragged and dusty and looking for somewhere to haunt -- and to realize he was actually moving in warranted a pause in Blaine’s routine.

He craned his head, looking for wealth in a crisp suit or diamond earrings amongst the workers who were hauling in modern-looking furniture and boxes, maybe by the bold curve of the Aston Martin in the driveway. Instead he saw his mom, a precarious wiggle to her high-heeled step as she walked past the house, earning a wolf whistle that Blaine could hear all the way in his room. He shut his eyes in embarrassment, ready to turn away, when _something_ pulled him back.

Blaine’s mom was talking now to a tall, _tall_ pale man, broad shouldered and sharp, in a polo and jeans, brown hair and an ability to make his mom toss her head back and laugh. She touched his arm -- he angled his body closer to hers, looked to the house -- she said something -- and then the man was looking up, straight up to Blaine’s window, their eyes locking.

A shiver Blaine couldn’t explain went down his spine.

\--

“His name is Sebastian,” his mom announced at dinner that night. “Sebastian Smythe. Very funny, oh, he says the _weirdest_ things … but handsome, very handsome ...”

“How old is he?” Blaine asked, in college and not looking for a stepdad his brother’s age.

“Oh, about Cooper’s age.” Dammit. “Old money, and he does something with investments, I think …”

\--

On his way back from class next day, Blaine stood outside the house, considering it through the handsome oaks that sheltered it. It didn’t look lived in yet, still the same place neighbourhood kids used to dare each other to break into, well into their teens. The floorplan was caught in Blaine’s mind, and he could still remember crawling in through a busted window to inch his way along creaking floorboards, around crumbling corners, up broken stairs.

He’d ended up in the master bedroom, throat clenched shut when he saw the gouged walls, five long narrow strips -- a stretch of blankness -- then another five, a little above the stained mattress on the floor. Desperate looking, _hungry_ looking, and then a sound from downstairs -- the knowledge that still sent him running from the house whenever he could.

Blaine’s eyes drifted to an upper-floor window, though the bedroom was on the other side of the house, and jerked back when he saw a curtain twitch. The man’s face, Mr. Smythe’s, watching him with an odd sort of smile on his face, and Blaine offered a jerky wave before bolting for his house.

\--

“Judy is throwing a welcome to the neighbourhood party for Sebastian.” His mom was holding up various garden party dresses against her in front of the mirror, looking for the perfect one. “He lives all alone in that house, can you believe it?”

“He probably has a housekeeper or something,” Blaine said, unable to imagine a thirty-something man who spent his time trading stocks cleaning up after himself. “Should I make something to bring to the party?”

He knew he couldn’t avoid attending, even if it was going to be Judy and his mom competing like it was an episode of _Bachelor_. He made a mental note to text Quinn, see how she felt about all this.

“Your pasta salad, maybe?” His mom beamed when Blaine nodded. “You’re such a good son.”

Blaine got up, kissed her cheek, pointed to the cotton cream dress which complimented her tan and said, “That one,” before leaving to go buy ingredients. He passed by the Smythe house on the way; he could hear a lawnmower going in the expansive backyard. Probably the housekeeper or a gardener, though maybe Sebastian Smythe, shirtless and sweating under the too-hot-for-fall sun that was making Blaine feel a little lightheaded himself.

He shook himself. Maybe he’d stop for a cappuccino on his way back, cool down.

\--

_Blaine (2:31): I’m serious, it’s creepy. You should hear how she says his name._

_Quinn (2:32): My mom is the opposite. She talks nicely about him but I don’t think she trusts him._

_Quinn (2:32): I don’t think my mom trusts any men anymore though. Not that I can blame her …_

_Blaine (2:33): Yeah. What do we even know about him? Who spends millions on a house but takes years to move in?_

_Blaine (2:33): Last night I swear I heard a scream or something from there. Mom says it was a raccoon fight but really??_

_Quinn (2:34): I didn’t hear anything. Sure you haven’t been watching too many horror movies?_

_Blaine (2:35): Maybe …_

\--

The day of the party was equally sweltering.

Blaine dressed in his garden party best, white shorts and a polo, red newsboy cap and shoes, blue belt and plaid bowtie. His mom put on red pumps to match alongside her cream dress, and pasta salad in hand they headed around the corner, past the Smythe house, to the Fabray’s next door. Quinn’s house was beautiful, ivory columns out front and a riotous garden under the door-flanking large bay windows. As Quinn said, “The last good thing my dad did for us.” Now they took the flagstone path around the back, following the mellow music, to find the backyard filled with half the neighbourhood. People were milling around the entertainment area in the back, or sitting in the shade provided by Miller’s Wood which bracketed the backyards of half the houses on the street; others were on the deck, where he could smell Mr. Motta barbecuing his favourite chili-and-garlic burgers while chatting with Mr. Clarington, Blaine's nose burning from the scent.

Blaine put his pasta salad on a table already groaning with food  -- most from caterers, the store, or whipped up by housekeepers -- then left his mom to her friends and went to find Quinn. As he searched, he noticed that Mr. Smythe didn’t appear to be there yet.

“Quinn?” Blaine went inside the house, looking over his shoulder before he went upstairs. Judy could tolerate Blaine in Quinn’s bedroom, but she always got a certain twitch to her jaw whenever she caught him there. “Quinn?”

The upstairs was quiet, Quinn’s room empty, and Blaine figured he must have missed her in the masses outside. Peeking out her bedroom window, he tried to spot her platinum-blonde bob, and thought he glimpsed it out past her outdoor fireplace. He headed back down, through the crowds, pausing to exchange polite words with various members of his mom’s book club, people from high school, his old babysitter. By the time he made it to the back of the yard, Quinn was gone, but he knew where to go now -- out the open back gate. Blaine slipped through, the temperature dropping a few thankful degrees as the coolness of the woods wrapped around him.

Stepping through sunlight dappling the ground through shivering poplars, and around the big old oak that still had his and Cooper’s names carved into it, over the thick roots of a willow that meant he was by the burbling stream. “Quinn?” He looked around, but the forest was silent, and he’d gone far enough that the music from the party kept fading, fading, until he was left with just the sounds of nature, birds trilling and something rustling through the dead leaves. The trees hadn’t started changing colours just yet, the heat putting them on hold, but Blaine spotted a few yellow branches on the maples he passed. He stopped by one, propping up against it and looking around and breathing slowly. The wood stretched for about half a mile width-wise before dropping down into the valley where the highway was, and further straight ahead until it hit the bluff, but Blaine was still close enough to civilization to see the fences of his house and all his neighbours.

It wasn’t a huge place, and Quinn didn’t seem to be anywhere.

“Quinn?”

And then, without the foretelling of snapping branches or crushed leaves --

“Is little red newscap lost?”

Blaine spun around, to find a stranger -- no, he recognized those shoulders, it was Sebastian Smythe -- watching him from his casual position, leaned against a tree. Blaine’s heart gave another jolt, maybe fear, or maybe just appreciating the way that angle pulled fabric across biceps and long legs. Up close, Blaine realized his mother was right: _handsome, very handsome_. Green eyes that seemed to catch and reflect the sun-buttery warm light, freckles, cocksure smile.

“Mr. Smythe.” Blaine tucked his hands in his pockets. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come up. I’m just looking for my friend, Quinn, Quinn Fabray. Judy’s daughter. You might have met her --” he held his tongue. He wasn’t usually this stumbling with his words.

“I’ve met her. Pretty girl. Not the kind I picture tramping about in the woods, but it takes all types, I guess.” He shrugged carelessly, pushing off the tree to step closer to Blaine. “So are you the outdoorsy type?” He gave Blaine a slow once-over, lingering on certain spots like syrup trembling on the edge of a bottle. His tone wasn’t exactly insulting, but Blaine knew he didn’t look like Paul Bunyan.

“We’ve always come back here to play, since we were kids --” Blaine jammed his fists in deeper into his pockets. The heat of the day seemed to be coming back, slipping under his skin. “Just a tradition, I guess. Oh.” Blaine could hit himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Blaine, Blaine Anderson.”

He shot a hand out, maybe too fast, but Mr. Smythe stepped forward to take it, considering Blaine like he’d just dropped out the trees like some confused baby bird. His hand was very big, and very warm, grip sure.

“My new neighbour.” A toothy grin. “I’m Sebastian Smythe, but of course, you probably knew that already. I’m surprised the Neighbourhood Committee hasn’t already put together a newsletter all about me.”

“Miller’s Crescent is kind of a, everyone knows everyone deal,” Blaine explained. Mr. Smythe still hadn’t let go of his hand. He wondered if it would be rude to extract it, because it seemed like he couldn’t focus on anything else. “Neighbours helping neighbours, it’s a nice thought. I think you’ll come to like it, Mr. Smythe.”

“The rich do like to flock together, good way to keep the rabble out.” Mr. Smythe finally let go of Blaine’s hand, only to step closer. Blaine had to start tilting his head back to keep his gaze on Mr. Smythe’s and not on the smooth column of his throat, the freckles continuing down into the V of his white dress shirt. “You can just call me Sebastian, you know. I’m not your teacher.”

“Sebastian.” Blaine’s ears were starting to feel hot. _Sebastian_ had a very white smile, and very pointy canines. “It’s, um, nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Sebastian tilted his head, taking another step forward which sent Blaine a step back, half a dance that ended with Blaine’s back thumping against a tree. Sebastian’s hand was suddenly by his head, bracing him as he stared down at Blaine, a position he held with grace. His cologne was a warm spice, soap underneath it. “Pam talks about you a lot. You’re studying music, yeah?”

“Yes, performance, theatre. I’m graduating in the spring.”

“Well,” Sebastian said, or maybe purred would be the right word, “I’d love to hear you sing sometime.”

“I can get tickets for you, next time we have a performance,” Blaine offered impulsively, ever doing things impulsively that he was bound to regret, but it was hard to see regret in the pleased smile that earned him. “We do showcases regularly.”

“Now that sounds fun --”

“Blaine!”

Blaine turned, bark rubbing against his cheek, and saw Quinn standing there with a handful of freshly-picked wildflowers. Her gaze was narrowed and intense, and she held the flowers like they were a sword, stance the kind of surety high school cheerleading pyramids had needed. Blaine, suddenly aware of how very close Sebastian was and how pink his face felt, slipped out of the tempting angle of Sebastian’s space to head towards Quinn’s safe harbour.

“Quinn!” He was almost relieved. He didn’t feel like himself. The back of his neck prickled like it could feel Sebastian’s gaze. “I was looking for you.”

“And I found _you_.” Quinn’s dagger-like gaze was focused over Blaine’s shoulder. Her voice was as cool as the shadow they all stood in. “Let’s get back to the party.”  

“Alright.” Blaine offered her his arm, and once she took it, turned to find that Sebastian was gone. Not just retreating to the party, but gone-gone, his footprints in the mud the only proof that Blaine hadn’t just had a very strange heatstroke fantasy -- hallucination -- out in the woods. Clearly the man was light on his feet. Blaine found himself looking for Sebastian as he and Quinn walked in silence, that is until they reached the gate back to Quinn’s house, at which point she drew them to a stop and abruptly said,

“I think you’re right about Smythe. There’s something not right about him.”

“I don’t know,” Blaine demurred. “As long as he doesn’t become my stepdad, he doesn’t seem so bad …”

Clearly that wasn’t the right thing to say because Quinn levelled him with one of her patented _looks_. Blaine hastily changed the subject before an argument could brew -- “Sugar’s invited us to a ‘summer is forever’ pool party, by the way, she has a new puppy for us to meet,” “ _Another?_ ” -- and led her back into the party.

\--

Blaine heard the -- raccoons, yes, raccoons -- again that night, so loud they woke him up.

\--

The problem was, he and Quinn really did have their traditions.

One of those was taking advantage of the fact that, even faster than taking the long curved J that was the street, or cutting through the woods -- because the stream broke up the land between their properties -- was simply climbing the crumbling mortar-and-stone wall into the once-empty corner house, and trotting across its thick, weedy backyard, then climbing another wall to get into Quinn’s backyard, and vice versa. Now that wall was fixed, the lawn mowed, and Sebastian always seemed to be _around_. A face in the window, out on his back deck, the front porch, chatting with neighbours, insinuating himself into the fabric of daily living like he’d always been there. And whenever he saw Blaine pass by, he’d grin, and call, “Come in for a beer?” like they were old friends. Blaine always politely declined.

(He wasn’t sure he trusted himself.)

So to get to Quinn’s now, he ended up going through the woods, taking the detour to the narrow part of the stream that you could jump over. The air was finally starting to get a bite to it, leaves flushing warmly and dropping to spin around his head, and he made a point to collect the loveliest to bring to Quinn. One day he was on his way there, a maple leaf the size of his face with a pink to red sunset gradient twirling absently from his fingers, when he thought he heard something snap, a branch underfoot.

Ears pricked, he turned, looking around. No one. He shook it off, then continued to the narrow point. He prepared for the jump, wincing for his boat shoes, and he had just touched down on the other side when -- “Blaine--” and he was stepping back in shock only to feel his heel slip down the edge of the riverbank, windmilling arms rescued by Sebastian’s strong grip. He had appeared out of nowhere, pulling Blaine upright again with an amused grin.

“That was impressive -- did you do long jump in school?” Sebastian thumb rubbed along Blaine’s inner arm before releasing his hold. “You do have such strong thighs.” His gaze dripped down, a visual caress.

“I did some track.” Blaine resisted the urge to shuffle his feet. Then, accusatory, “You scared me.”

“Mmm.” Sebastian dragged his attention back up, their gazes an electric spark. “My bad. I was exploring, and saw this --” he tugged lightly on Blaine’s red polo, knuckles grazing Blaine’s belt “-- and I couldn’t resist coming to investigate.”

“I like the colour,” Blaine said defensively.

“No, no, it looks good on you,” Sebastian replied easily. “Like an apple. _Red delicious_.”

“Oh.” Blaine was probably going red himself. He tried to look away, but the green of Sebastian’s eyes seemed to have him arrested. Somewhere, a bird peeped furiously. “Uh, my mom is thinking of having you over for dinner--”

He could have hit himself. Sebastian’s smirk crawled wider.

“Your dad isn’t around, is he?”

“No.” Blaine gave him a disbelieving look. “I mean, I see him, but they’re divorced. She’s nearly _fifty_.”

“Must get lonely in that big house …” Sebastian’s smile faded, not in sympathy, but to a look that wrapped like strong hands around Blaine’s wrists, pinning him. “Maybe I should give you my number, in case you need somebody to come over, fill up some space.”

Everything Sebastian did seemed to fill up space -- Blaine’s space -- the currently earthier scent of him that Blaine breathed into tight lungs, a gaze which poured on hot to strip away anything Blaine might be hiding, the low, almost hypnotic lull of his voice soothing whenever Blaine realized just how much of Sebastian’s sheer physicality was replacing the air around Blaine and leaving him dizzy.

And judging by the smugness Sebastian exuded, he seemed to know this.

“I have to go,” Blaine blurted out, and stepped around Sebastian, hurrying away. He didn’t dare look back.

\--

“You feeling okay?” His mom asked that night at dinner. “You’ve hardly touched your steak.”

“Just thinking.” Blaine tapped his fork against his plate. “Maybe we should have dad over for dinner this weekend.”

It wasn’t like he had his delusions, about his parents reuniting -- he would never be able to forget the sight of her, heart crushed on the kitchen floor like a burst rotten fruit, crying in ugly spills when she realized there was no milk in the fridge, because her ex-husband had always bought it. But it would do her good, maybe, to be reminded of who her family was, and not chasing someone who gave Blaine such _looks_.

“If he’s not busy.” His mom didn’t meet his eye. “Have some peas, baby, if nothing else.”

\--

_Quinn (11:13): What is he building back there?_

_Blaine (11:26): It looks like a gazebo._

_Quinn (11:26): Or a cage._

_Quinn (11:26): If he wanted a gazebo, they would have built one when it was being restored._

_Blaine (11:28): People change their minds, Quinn._

_Quinn (11:30): Right. You would know all about that._

_Blaine (11:31): ?_

_Blaine (11:31): What’s that supposed to mean?_

_Quinn (11:33): It means first instincts are usually right._

\--

Blaine and Quinn could both see into the Smythe backyard from their bedrooms, but they were clearly seeing two different things. Sebastian had been out there for a few days now, in an old thin t-shirt and worn jeans, sawing and hammering and building. It was octagonal, and as far as Blaine was concerned a gazebo. Quinn’s assumptions were wild, wilder than she liked to be, which made her concerns more concerning than anything Sebastian might be getting up to.

\--

That Sunday dawned hot, but promised to cool rapidly with a rainstorm later that evening. For now Blaine had the window of his soundproofed music room -- next to his bedroom -- open, the lazy drone of flies and distant barking keeping him company while he fiddled with the composition of a song, which they were supposed to reinvent. Blaine, in some annoyance with a professor who had picked on Blaine steadily since his first year now nailing him with a look when saying “ _You can’t freestyle this_ …” had picked a Florence song and was transposing it to his assigned tone: love. It would be perfect, he hoped.

“ _I'll be dead before the day is done_ \--” Blaine stopped, tapped a note higher. “ _Done. I'll be dead before the day is done_ \--”

The loud whine of a power saw next door, pause to crank on a loud radio, power saw back at it. Blaine clenched his teeth, looking over. Sebastian. It was Blaine’s fault, really, he should be doing this at school but he wanted to keep it a surprise.

“ _Seven devils_ \-- no, what about --” Blaine scribbled on his sheet music, left hand tapping out a quick tune, only to misjudge when the song outside interrupted like a rude guest. _Want a little warmth, but who’s gonna save a little warmth for me?_ Blaine got up, stalking over to his window and looking out. Sebastian seemed to be cutting the wood for the fence that would circle along the bottom of the gazebo.

Blaine leaned out, wondering if he could convince Sebastian to turn it down. The room got stuffy without a window open. But still he hesitated, remembering that weird day in the woods. _See the sun going down, it’s going on down, and the night is deep …_

“Hey, killer,” Sebastian called loudly, now staring up at Blaine.

Blaine jumped, flushing. “Uh, hi.”

“Are you busy?” Sebastian didn’t seem to care that half the neighbourhood might be able to hear him. “I could use some help with this.” He tapped his foot against the woodpile.

Blaine shouldn’t. He had work. He’d proven himself untrustworthy when alone with Sebastian. It might not be a bad idea, but it wasn’t his best, either.

“Sure,” Blaine replied automatically despite all that, having heard _polite_ accompanied by _to a fault_ all his life. What had he told Sebastian? Neighbours helping neighbours. And now he could prove to Quinn that it was only a gazebo. “Just let me get some work clothes on.”

“Don’t forget the blind is up in your room,” Sebastian called back. “Or do. It’s your business.” He grinned.

Blaine nodded jerkily, then shut the music room window. (He prayed Judy wasn’t out gardening to overhear that.) Then he went and changed -- blind down -- into light sweats and a t-shirt, before heading over next door. His mom was out, the day of rest a day of luncheons, but Blaine nearly left a note all the same. As he wandered over he wondered at that, and at the fact that this would be his first time on the corner house’s property since Sebastian moved in weeks ago.

The backyard was empty when Blaine arrived, radio still playing. Eyebrows furrowing, he noticed that the French doors which led out onto the back deck were open, and he hovered awkwardly by them, calling into the house -- totally refurbished, not a hint of the moldy mess that had been there before -- “Sebastian?”

“In here,” Sebastian called back, from the direction of the kitchen. Blaine stepped in onto polished hardwood, walking carefully lest he dirty it, through the dining room, and then finding that the short hall that led to the kitchen didn’t exist anymore, walls having been knocked down to make it more open concept. Sebastian was opening two bottles of beer at the kitchen island.

“It’s an IPA,” he said, holding it out to Blaine.

“Oh.” Blaine accepted it, giving it a puzzled look. “Thanks. Should you really be drinking and using a power saw, though?”

“I think I could pull off missing a few fingers,” Sebastian said with a laugh. “It’d make for a good opening line, anyways.”

“What, like, ‘If I were a transplant surgeon I’d give you my heart, and myself some fingers?’”

“Who wouldn’t swoon at that?” Sebastian asked dryly, then held out his bottle to Blaine. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Blaine tapped their bottles together, the clink echoing. Sebastian drank first, a long pull that tipped his chin up, long throat on display, a peek of clavicle flirting with Blaine’s hot gaze. He hastily took a pull from his own bottle, glancing down at the smirk he could see curling Sebastian’s mouth.

“So you’ve lived here your whole life, right?”

“Yeah, my parents moved right before I was born, they wanted more room with two kids.”

“Two?”

“My brother, Cooper, he lives in Los Angeles.” Blaine hadn’t seen his brother in person in three years, when he’d turned up two weeks late for Blaine’s graduation. It was a thought that soured the pleasant warmth the beer and Sebastian were bringing over him. “What about you? You live here all alone?”

God, what if Sebastian had some pretty, distant wife? _Kids?_

“All alone.” Oh thank god. “I’m a solitary creature.” Sebastian checked his hip against the counter, taking another sip while giving Blaine a side-long glance. Then he murmured huskily, “Besides, I’m very good at finding company when I want it.”

It seemed a bit cheeky to say _I bet_ , Blaine still feeling a bit of deference to somebody who had probably been _finding company_ when Blaine was still playing _Operation_.

“My mom talks about you pretty often,” Blaine said instead, knowing he was being wheedling and passive-aggressive but unable to help it. “She hasn’t offered to show you around, has she?”

“She has.” Sebastian seemed to be laughing at a private joke. Blaine bristled. “I turned her down. I was _really_ not interested.”

“What? Why?” What was wrong with his mom? Blaine fumed, his finally soothed anxiety about step-dads now replaced by a need to defend his favourite person in the world.

Sebastian held up his hands. He seemed to know he’d offended. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s gorgeous and a real firecracker -- reminds me of you, tiger -- but I’ve got my eye on someone else, and I’ve always been single-minded.”

“Ah …” Blaine rubbed at the bottle’s label, anger replaced with something flustered and bubbling near the surface of his suddenly sensitive skin because Sebastian was leaning across the kitchen island, drawing a long finger through the condensation on his bottle, eyes piercing through Blaine like a needle through a butterfly.

“Do you want to know who I’m interested in?”

“I can guess,” Blaine murmured, hesitating but not unsure. Sebastian wasn’t subtle, and now he knew what Sebastian _wasn’t_ after -- it considerably pared things down to the basic, naked want that Blaine could only try to ignore until he knew what to do with it. “Shouldn’t we get to work on that gazebo?”

“We’ve got time. First, I’ve got a question for the schoolboy.” Sebastian finally leaned back, his tone lightening up to something more mischievous. “Now, when I was in school, I must have broken into a dozen places just to have a smoke or fuck or say I did. And a creepy mansion with woods out back? That’s got to be a prime target.”

“Stuff may have … happened …” 

“Hm, well, tell me this -- do you know what made those marks in the --” bedroom, he was going to say bedroom, he was going to invite Blaine up to his bedroom, what would he _do_ “-- basement?”

“Basement?” Blaine blurted out. “No, I, uh, I haven’t seen those.”

“Here, I’ll show you.” Sebastian pushed up from the counter, leading the way towards the door to the basement, which was set around the corner from the kitchen, in the narrow hallway servants must have used. Blaine followed slowly. No kid had wanted to go into the basement. _Definitely haunted_ , Sugar still said, the only one who had been brave enough to stand on the stairs. _I heard, like, someone being tortured. Screaming. Howling_. She’d called 9-1-1, but they’d found nothing, brushed it off as a prank.

“So are there any stories about this place? Any ghosts I should know about?” Sebastian hit the light switch before going down, a musty yellow glow coming up. From what Blaine could see, the basement didn’t look renovated, which was -- weird.

“Not really.” Blaine stepped carefully onto the creaky wooden stairs, watching Sebastian stoop his head against the low ceiling. “Hunter always said it was where a hairy monster lived that tried to eat people, but he went to military school, he was always trying to get a rise out of people; and Sugar said her dad said that some kind of mob royalty lived here who all killed each other in a gunfight but that was his idea of a bedtime story for her. It’s just an old house.”

Better not to mention the strange sounds. At best, he’d look paranoid.

"I heard some kid died out in the woods, years ago, P-something ..."

"It was an animal mauling," Blaine said quietly. It wasn't something their pleasant little neighbourhood discussed often. "But it was far from here."

"So nothing for the house?"

"No."

“Aw, I was hoping for something really juicy.” They were in the basement proper, Sebastian guiding the way through the small, dimly lit space. “Like a lover’s quarrels -- I love those ones -- somebody getting choked to death. Great stuff.” They passed a washer/dryer, under the second dim yellow lightbulb, around a corner of shelves that contained old preserves. Blaine had lost his tongue, but Sebastian spoke on uncaringly. “I should get this place done, but I’m not a basement person. I’m a fully functional adult, for one.”

Finally, he found his voice. “The workers didn’t suggest it?”

“No, in fact they refused to come in here.” It was much darker in this corner, Sebastian leading them straight to the concrete wall in the back. “Said they heard things. Like, get an exterminator, right?”

“Right.”

“Anyways, here it is.” Sebastian stopped, gesturing his beer bottle at the wall. Blaine stepped forward, elbow brushing Sebastian’s, the hair up on his arms, breathing in the spice of Sebastian’s cologne. “Spooky, isn’t it?”

Blaine leaned in, aware of Sebastian’s gaze on the back of his neck. The wall was mutilated. Five long gouges, then blank space, then five more, except unlike the upstairs these were repeated ad nauseum, layered onto each other in a haywire map of a pattern that had dug chunks out of the concrete and mortar, someone desperately digging their way out, and not succeeding. He pressed closer. The wall was still stained with something rusty that pricked at Blaine’s nose, and he exhaled loudly, straightening up again.

“I don’t like this,” Blaine said quietly.

Sebastian’s hand was suddenly on his lower back.

“Some kind of animal, do you think? Something big and bad? Sebastian’s eyes gleamed in the dark, his teeth flashing white as he snapped them playfully.

“I think I’d like to go back upstairs.”

Blaine turned on his heel, stalking out, Sebastian’s hand falling away but guiding him as he chased after Blaine. His long, loping steps let him catch up easily as he grabbed Blaine’s elbow to pause his momentum. Blaine’s whole body seemed to flare the contact. “Sebastian --”

“Hey.” Sebastian smiled. “Sorry about that. Let’s get you some fresh air.”

Blaine smiled weakly back, and they hurried outside, working on the gazebo (definitely a gazebo, take that Quinn, nothing weird here) and drinking and chatting for the rest of the day. Blaine put away his worries, tried to leave them in that basement -- Sebastian was, he was almost certain, utterly harmless. And seeing him out in the daylight, flirty and probing and warm, it was hard to think otherwise. Even the house seemed like just a house, from this perspective. And when the rainstorm hit, Blaine gladly came back inside for another beer and a long talk, right through the evening.

Blaine started to relax.

\--

_Blaine (9:46): He took me into the basement. Showed me where the wall's all torn up..._

_Quinn (9:47): Stay away from him, Blaine._

_Quinn (10:05): I’m serious. Stay away from him._

_Blaine (10:10): It's not like he was the one who tore it up, Q._

_Blaine (10:10): You’re being paranoid._

_Quinn (10:11): Better safe than sorry._

\--

Much to Blaine’s surprise, his mom informed him his dad would be over for dinner next weekend. She was seeming a bit downhearted, and Blaine remembered Sebastian saying he’d turned her down, and vowed to step up his son game. For the next week he exceeded himself, in school and at her side, and breathed a secret sigh of relief when she said nothing about Blaine helping out Sebastian every now and again as well. Things were, by Blaine’s hesitant estimation, going well -- and then, the Friday night he was prepping dinner before his dad came, his mom walked in and wrinkled her nose. She -- who had never been much of a cook -- carefully asked,

“Is this enough for four people, baby?”

“What?” Blaine looked up from the venison he was applying a dry rub to. “Me, you, dad -- who else?” His mom had a habit of last-minute invitations, living her life so large there was always room for extra.

“Sebastian, of course. I’ve been meaning to have him over and dad’s been wanting to meet the mysterious owner of number one-oh-five …”

“Sebastian?” Blaine choked on his tongue. “Him?”

“I thought you two were getting along!” Her eyes widened. “You’re always over there, hammering and such. You even stopped calling him Mr. Smythe!”

“Don’t you think that’d be weird? Dad, and the guy who --” Blaine coughed his tongue back up just to bite it. No way he was stupid enough to finish that statement. “Is a total stranger to him.”

“Oh, it’s not weird at all, Dan was his neighbour for years if you think about it …”

“Was he really?” Blaine frowned. “I thought Sebastian newly bought the house.”

“No, Judy checked, no sale ever went through on the house. Maybe he inherited it, but it hasn’t been bought as long as we’ve lived here.”

“Huh.” Blaine started applying the rub more vigorously. “Well. I’ve got an extra cut. We’ll be fine.”

“Alright, thank you bee.” She sailed over to give him a half-hug, kissing his cheek. “I’ll run out, get a bottle of wine. Sebastian seems like he drinks the nice stuff, doesn’t he?”

Sebastian did. With the gazebo mostly finished, only the staining to do, they’d sat on it and shared a bottle so expensive that Blaine handled the stemless wine glass like it was a Fabragé egg. At one point Sebastian had leaned over, brushed his thumb along Blaine’s lower lip, and coyly observed, “ _You’ve got a little something_ …”

“He does,” Blaine said softly, eyelashes flicking down before she could read anything in his eyes.

She left for the liquor store, and by the time she’d come back all that needed doing was cooking the actual meat, but he’d wait until everyone’s there for that. Instead they finished setting up, the good china out, his mom slipping on a favourite album and shimmying into a green dress that was a favourite of his dad’s on her. Blaine for his part lingered on a bright salmon of a blazer, not quite red but maybe an apple at first blush, Sebastian’s voice a murmur in his ear. _Delicious_.

He tried not to fidget with it when he came downstairs, straightening pillows instead. The doorbell rang, and he rushed to answer it; on the other side was Sebastian, bearing a bottle of wine and peering down at Blaine’s doorframe with an odd expression. When he saw Blaine, however, he brightened.

“Ah, there’s just the man I was looking for …” Sebastian invited himself in, Blaine moving aside but still catching a full-body brush that seemed intentional. “Nice place. This is for you.”

“Thank you.” Blaine accepted the wine -- a Zinfandel, very handsome -- noting that Sebastian didn’t have a jacket on, despite the fact that the weather was finally settling into a steady briskness that made Blaine switch out to his autumn wardrobe. “We’re right in the living room, through the archway to the right. I’ll just put this away.”

“Alright.” Sebastian paused Blaine before he left, slipping a winding finger along Blaine’s lapel, tracing down his torso. Heat flared along the path. Blaine’s breath stuttered. “I think I’ve seen you turn this colour,” he observed lowly, hand flattening for a moment and shifting the blazer aside, revealing Blaine’s green shirt underneath. “You’re like a parakeet.”

“... Is that a compliment?”

“You’re unlike anyone else I’ve ever met,” Sebastian reassured him. “It’s a good thing. People can be so godawfully boring.”

“I think you just need to consider everyone’s perspective.”

“But I’m so happy with what I’m seeing right now.” Sebastian’s thumb started tugging absently at one of Blaine’s shirt buttons, staring down at the flash of skin revealed. The entryway was starting to feel muggy. “You’re so sexy.”

“I …” Blaine had thought Sebastian was forward before. Luckily, he just caught a flash of green out of the corner of his eye, and managed to bat Sebastian’s hand away before turning to face his mom. She was smiling without care. “Sebastian’s here.” Was his voice shaky?

“Sebastian, welcome!” She came over, and Sebastian stepped away from Blaine so they could give cheek kisses of greeting. He’d gathered, from their conversations, that Sebastian had some French in him. It made his mother coo. “Come right through here, I have to show you the album …”

Sebastian allowed himself to be tugged away, throwing a wink at Blaine when Pam had turned her back, and Blaine went back to the kitchen to uncork the wine and let it aerate in a wine server -- it would pair well with the venison. Then it was back to the living room, where Sebastian was examining a record, impressed eyebrows up. They all sat and talked music for a while, each of them with their own performing stories, when the doorbell rang. Blaine was up like a shot and went to answer it, his dad on the other side, bearing two small gift boxes that would have been wrapped in the store.

“Blaine.” He stepped forward, and they exchanged a half-hug.

“Hey dad.” Blaine hugged back a little harder, then let go before he embarrassed his dad. Despite all the languages they had in common, they’d never really understood each other. “We’re all in the living room. Can I take your jacket?”

“Thank you.” His dad shrugged out of it, also handing Blaine the gifts. “One for you, one for mom.”

“Thanks.” Blaine knew which was his -- he recognized Brook’s Brothers' wrapping. Blaine hung up his dad’s jacket in the hall closet, and then they walked into the living room together. Blaine’s dad gave his mom a kiss on the cheek, then extended a polite hand to Sebastian.

“Danilo -- Dan -- Anderson.”

“Sebastian Smythe.” They shook, and Blaine pretended he wasn’t watching nervously while he handed his mom her gift. They opened them up (bowtie, a necklace) and interrupted the deeply boring and very adult conversation about stocks that Sebastian and his dad had immediately dived into in order to hug him in thanks. Blaine then slipped away from witnessing anymore of that _adult talk_ between his dad and his -- his -- neighbour, and went to finish cooking.

Despite his fears, the night went smoothly for hours. Sebastian and his dad got on like a house on fire from their work in finance, and his mom was sparkling with the three of them to entertain and be entertained by, and Sebastian clearly appreciated a well treated piece of meat because he didn’t ask for it to be cooked longer. In fact he’d paused a conversation about the deficit in order to raise his glass to Blaine and announce, “You’ve got a fine cook here.”

Best of all, he never felt like a child who had wandered away from the kiddie table, able to hold his own, and Sebastian’s attention never strayed too far from him. He hoped these facts were related.

Then Blaine pushed his luck.

He was in the kitchen, cleaning up a little before joining everyone else for an after-dinner wine and chocolates. He was out of his blazer, sleeves rolled up, and giving the china a quick wipe down to avoid staining when Sebastian appeared with two wine glasses in hand.

“Your parents are reminiscing. I thought I’d give them space. They’re very close for a divorced couple.” Sebastian came over, handing a glass to Blaine, who rinsed off the last plate and set it aside before drying his hands off on the towel -- dropping it in his haste, stooping to pick it up and noting dried mud on Sebastian’s otherwise perfect shoes -- and coming back up with an embarrassed smile to finally accept the wine.

“Thank you.”

“I like watching you drink it.”

Blaine immediately felt a surge of self-scrutinization about how he held the glass and whether he was staining his lips too much, but Sebastian cupped his hand around the delicate stem, swirling a little so legs appeared. “It’s a good wine,” Blaine said quietly, trying to puncture the tension that Sebastian’s hand on him always seemed to create.

Sebastian’s presence could go straight from dizzying to intoxicating, if Blaine wasn’t careful.

“I’ll get you another bottle.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“You wouldn’t think so.” Sebastian crooked a smile. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Blaine’s eyes must have veered straight into startled deer, but he didn’t move away as Sebastian leaned in ( _down_ , he was so _tall_ \--), instead rocking up a bit until they were kissing.

Blaine’s hand flattened against Sebastian’s chest to steady himself as a shaky gasp parted his lips, Sebastian’s hand sliding down his arm, hooking him closer, the wine glass a cool chaperone between them in Blaine’s tight grip as Sebastian’s hand fit itself into the dip of Blaine’s lower back, keeping him in place. Blaine shakily exhaled through his nose, his mouth occupied by the insistent curl of Sebastian’s tongue as it slipped inside him, another molten point of contact that drew him in and melted him until he moved with dissolute grace to every slow stroke and twist and tease of Sebastian’s mouth. It seemed that Sebastian was everywhere, teeth on Blaine’s lower lip, thumb in Blaine’s waistband and seeking bare skin, the wet drag of their mouths and Sebastian’s low, chest-rumbling groan all Blaine could hear, Sebastian’s free hand on the nape of Blaine’s neck as solid and sure as the rest of him as Blaine gave himself into the hot give-and-take of their mouths.

Sebastian kissed like none of the other boys had -- but then again, he was definitely not a _boy_.

“Blaine-- oh.”

They broke apart with an obscene smack, Sebastian’s hands still claiming his space as Blaine turned to find his dad there, confused.

“I --” his dad blinked. “I’ll give you privacy.”

He left without another word, and Blaine stepped out of Sebastian’s warm grip, mortified.

“I’m dead,” Blaine whispered. “I’m going to be grounded for life.”

“You’re twenty-two,” Sebastian said reasonably, which sounded a whole lot less reasonable from someone who _wasn’t_. “They can’t ground you.”

“They’ll lock me up and throw away the key!”

“Move out.”

“And go where?” Blaine snapped. “Take your second bedroom?”

“I don’t have a second anymore,” Sebastian replied, clearly amused. “I had all of them either knocked away or ... refurbished. But you’re welcome to move in. I’d like the twenty-four hour access.”

He winked. Blaine would tear his hair out, if he could. Instead, he drained his wine.

“This is a disaster,” Blaine said fervently, setting his glass aside with a clatter. “God, you’re so _old_.”

“Mmm.” Sebastian smirked as he snaked his fingers through Blaine’s belt loops and pulled him closer. “Just think about everything I’ve had time to learn.”

That was the last thing Blaine needed to think about. He hoped his glare indicated that.

“Look,” Sebastian said, grin easing into something more mellow. “Why don’t you wait and see what their reaction is before you lose your head. They like me, after all. Parents always like me. And if they disown you from Stepford living, I’ll buy you a city apartment by your school and you can make up for your lack of father figure whenever you want ...” He was teasing.

“I have money,” Blaine said, laughing a little in spite of himself. He was relaxing -- maybe nothing could seem dire around Sebastian. “I don’t need a sugar daddy.”

“Oh, he’s all grown up!” Sebastian said in faux-pride. “It always happens so fast …”

“Shut up.” Blaine smacked him, harder than intended. Sebastian gave a startled wince. “Sorry. I think -- I think we should go talk to them.”

“Maybe your dad didn’t tell her.”

“Please.” Blaine said, wiggling away from Sebastian’s hold to roll his sleeves back down, looking for his blazer. Best to look put-together, even if his lips still felt swollen and flushed. “They take keeping me safe very seriously. They’re probably already looking up chastity devices on Ebay.”

“Hot.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Seriously, killer.” Sebastian’s tone switched to something Blaine couldn’t quite read, something a little weird, though his kiss-reddened lips stayed in a pleasant curve. “Isn’t it time from a little rebellion? What’s with the death grip mommy dearest and, apparently, your dad have on you?”

“I --” Blaine hadn’t expected that. “Family is important, Sebastian.”

“Alright.” Sebastian shrugged. “Let’s go face the music, then.”

\--

His parents were very quiet about it, which was the biggest red flag.

“Hear you were having a little fun in there,” his mom said, and when Sebastian went to speak, she smiled and cut him him off to continue with, “Oh, you should hear the stories I have …”

Blaine had heard the whole cadre of “going to L.A. when she was sixteen” stories which involved various celebrities, cocaine, and the thrill of the eighties. She told one about an investment banker -- subtle, that -- in her jazzercise class, Sebastian nodded and smiled and played along, and at the end of the night went home with a parting kiss to her and Blaine’s cheeks and a handshake to his dad, who gave Blaine an awkward shoulder-grip before he too left. It was pleasant, and it made Blaine uneasy.

Then, the next day when he was talking about staining the gazebo, his mom said:

“Maybe you shouldn’t be going over there all the time. You have school to focus on.”

Blaine didn’t reply, only nodded brusquely and went up to his room to work.

\--

His dreams were red.

The woods, and something dripping, a turn on a too-fast merry-go-round, then the feeling of a hand on his waist, draped across Sebastian’s lap, kissing him and biting at his lip and something powerful growing in his chest, squirming and turning himself, pinned to a bed, blood rushing and his whole self rising up to meet the strength holding him down, kisses and kisses and blooming red all down his chest like misplaced flowers --

He woke up to the sound of Sebastian’s car pulling out of the driveway at four a.m.

\--

_Blaine (8:00): It was so awkward. And even mom is disapproving, like she didn’t tell us she’d done the same kind of things and it turned out fine for her ..._

_Quinn (8:01): Even I’m disapproving. Look what happened to me, Blaine. You can’t sleep with a guy you can’t fully trust._

_Blaine (8:01): Who says I don’t trust him?_

_Quinn (8:02): Two days, two months, two years, Blaine … do you even trust yourself?_

_Blaine (9:29): I wish everyone would leave me be. I can look out for myself._

_Quinn (9:30): Come over. We need to talk about this in person._

\--  

Sebastian was gone, so Blaine cut through his backyard.

The house looked larger like this, no lights on, just an empty, creaking husk. Sebastian imbued it with life, and not for the first time Blaine wondered how somebody so lively who spoke about _city apartments_ would move into some place like this all by himself. Not that Blaine was complaining, exactly, because having a neighbour who kissed him wasn’t a problem. But it was a little odd, in that little odd way Sebastian was, utterly disarming and able to put Blaine at ease while keeping Blaine on his toes at the same time. Blaine could --

He froze. Was that a curtain, moving? He stared, but it was still now. _Imagination, it’s your imagination_ …

Still, he jogged the rest of the way to Quinn’s, nearly landing on top of her when he’d scaled the wall.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she said as she stepped aside neatly. Blaine straightened, brushing off his cardigan.

“We could just meet in the woods like normal people …”

They shared a look and laughed, and Quinn guided him upstairs. “Mom’s at a book launch,” she explained, as they settled onto her bed.

“Sebastian asked about mom,” Blaine said, memory striking. “Mommy dearest, he said. I think he finds it a little weird I still live at home.”

“Well, he’s a grown adult with his own house,” Quinn said pointedly. Blaine gave her a look, and she begrudgingly added, “He just doesn’t know your story, Blaine.”

“Yeah …” Blaine sighed. He wasn’t sure if it was a story he could ever share, even if this thing with Sebastian actually became something. What it could become, he didn’t know, if Sebastian wanted something serious or if this was just a game to him, something to pass the time in the trappings of residential living -- they weren’t anywhere near that conversation yet. And with his mother giving him looks and his dad calling to check in and Quinn berating him, he wasn’t sure if whatever they already had would have the room to grow, if he wasn’t just a silly kid after all pining after someone with bigger plans down the road with someone else. _It was just a kiss. So what?_ said a cynical voice in his head that sounded like Sebastian.

“And if anything,” Quinn said, “He probably thinks it weird you and your mom wear matching outfits and do everything together.”

“I’m a good son,” Blaine said defensively. “I love my mom.”

( _Mama’s boy_ , Hunter used to say. _Dare you to break into one-oh-five, mama’s boy_.)

“Then he better understand that before you date him,” Quinn said. “If you make that mistake, of course.”

“You know,” Blaine said, “I seem to remember something about you and your professor in first year …”

“And that was a mistake.” Quinn gave a wry smile. “That’s the bonus of being friends with me. I always make the biggest mistakes first, so others can learn from them.”

“Funny. I feel the same way.” Blaine and Quinn shared a fond look at that, unspoken memories of the various dramas they’d supported each other through. It made Blaine cave. “I’m being careful, I promise. I just … I think I really like him. Or I could. Is it wrong to trust someone if we’re going into it with eyes open?”

“I guess not.” Quinn was caving too. “But promise me, seriously, that you’ll keep me updated so I can tell if you things go from ‘potentially bad idea’ to ‘crying about it into ice cream’ territory. I love you, Blaine, but you don’t the best track record for seeing the reality of situations.”

“Which is why I have you, my realistic best friend,” Blaine said, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. “I love you, Quinn, and if we’re talking about ice cream …”

“I have some in the fridge,” Quinn said. “And some vodka. Feel like milkshakes?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

\--

Sebastian was gone all week.

He called Blaine just once, a call Blaine missed; the voicemail said, cheerily and cheekily:

“ _Sorry. I’ll be back soon. Stay sexy, and stay inside -- full moon tonight. You don’t know what kind of weirdos are around, and I’d hate for you to die before our second kiss_.”

Blaine replayed the message on loop.

\--

He (literally) bumped into Sugar, near the end of the week.

“Blaine!” she squealed, grabbing him with a little groping thrown in. “Watch it, these are Louboutins.”

“Sorry, Sugar.” He did respect a good shoe after all. “How’re you?”

“Good,” she indicated her puppy, who was sniffing excitedly at Blaine’s ankles. “Taking Cinnamon for a walk, hopefully he’ll stop peeing in the house, _won’t you baby_? Anyways! I have news.”

“What?”

“You won’t believe who’s back in town,” Sugar said, like she was announcing she’d seen Serena van der Woodsen herself. Blaine was curious, even though knowing Sugar, this could be about her favourite salon manicurist.

“Who?”

“Hunter Clarington!” Sugar bounced in place. “I totally saw him, bringing his stuff in. He is looking seriously good. I nearly climbed the fence to get to him.”

“I thought he was in, like, Afghanistan.”

“Guess he’s back! And his tan looks great …” Sugar sighed. “I’ve got to drag mom back to Egypt next summer. Anyways, if you decide to drop by his house to beat him up, give me a heads up, ‘kay? I want to film it.”

“Alright, Sugar.” They chatted a few more minutes, until, “What is --?”

“No! Cinnamon! No!” And Sugar dragged her puppy away, Blaine left with piss-stained shoes as Sugar called over her shoulder, “I’ll pay you back later!”

Shuddering, Blaine headed home fast, groceries bumping against his leg as he thought it all over. Hunter, back in town -- what could go wrong? Pausing outside Sebastian’s house and seeing the lights in the living room were on, he decided on a grim, _Everything_.

(He’d stop by to say hi once this milk was in the fridge, and he had new shoes. And taken a foot bath. And _showered_.)

\--

Sebastian kissed him, long and hard, pushed up against the front door.

“I’ve been thinking of doing that all week,” he said, once they’d parted, Blaine still kind of stunned, his breath caught in his chest.

“Where’d you go?” Blaine asked. Not the question he’d meant to ask. “I missed you,” he offered as well.

“Out of town,” Sebastian answered vaguely, hands sliding down to frame Blaine’s waist, the only warning before he leaned in to kiss Blaine again, slower, easier, breaking away to ask huskily, “Do you want to show me how much you’ve missed me?”

“I …” Blaine stumbled. “Can we … hang out?” He winced. “Go to the movies, or -- stain the gazebo, or -- I can make us food --” there had to be words he could say that reflected what he wanted, showed he knew what he wanted, sorted out his busy thoughts and overwhelmed senses.

“A date,” Sebastian clarified, amusement clear. He placed a kiss to Blaine’s jaw, murmured in his ear, “That’s got to be the most roundabout way I’ve ever been asked out.”

Yes. That was it. Sebastian was a simplifying force. Blaine could learn from him.

“I’m sorry --- will you accompany me on a date?”

There was a good chance that would be met with incredulity. That all Sebastian wanted to show him was the hopefully freshly-plastered wall of his bedroom as he fucked Blaine into the mattress on all fours. Blaine swallowed dryly.

“You’re an old romantic, Blaine Anderson.” Sebastian straightened, smile crooked. “Feel free to take me anywhere you like.”

Blaine was almost -- disappointed.

\--

_Blaine (5:06): I think we’re actually dating!_

_Quinn (5:08): Did you exchange promise rings?_

_Blaine (5:09): I think your problem is you’re jealous._

_Blaine (5:10): Want me to ask if Sebastian has any friends?_

_Quinn (5:11): Hmm. Only if they’re half so blessed. Did you know your boyfriend likes to walk around his backyard naked in the morning?_

_Blaine (5:11): WHAT? Stop checking out my neighbour._

_Quinn (5:12): I try not to, but he makes it hard. He’s really weird, Blaine._

_Blaine (5:15): Not this again …_

_Blaine (5:15): And what time in the morning?_

\--

Quinn wasn’t wrong; at the time Blaine took his normal morning jog, a peek out his music room window confirmed that Sebastian was standing his backyard in just an open flannel robe, naked and drinking coffee and staring out into the woods. Like he was standing guard, alert and tall.

It was, Blaine admitted, a little weird -- but their dates had been nothing but good, great really, and he was starting to realize that Sebastian’s little oddities were a sort of assembled personality of all the things he knew most got under other people’s skins. Like how he got under Blaine’s, a hand on Blaine’s thigh in the movie theatre creeping higher and higher as Blaine held himself still with the breath trembling in his lungs, lazy fingers on his inseam; kisses in the twilight air, the chill of the autumn an excuse to let Sebastian draw him in by the ends of his scarf and lead him through the streets of the city with the sliver moon their only witness; questions and comments and probing looks and always, always the sense that there was something Sebastian was just biting himself back from saying that left his eyes heady and dark as he watched Blaine -- he could bring himself off just remembering that look alone.

It had been just under a month, and Blaine had never been so simultaneously enchanted and wrong-footed.

He considered slipping down there, maybe starting Sebastian’s morning off right, but he knew if he didn’t jog he’d be tearing his skin off with energy by the end of the day. Besides, it was good for couples to spend time apart, especially when Blaine had school and Sebastian had -- something. Daytrading? He never seemed to be working, though now that the gazebo was done, he’d taken to hammering something inside his house. Blaine had yet to figure out what it was; Sebastian was vague, and Blaine hesitated at the idea of his mother catching him coming out of there.

She’d considerably cooled off on Sebastian, and Blaine hadn’t lied to her _per se_ about what he’d been up to, but he didn’t advertise it either.

“You can’t let yourself be distracted,” she’d warned him. “You have so many dreams, bee, and you won’t make it there if you get side-tracked.”

Blaine had nearly snapped that she was just jealous her crush had taken to Blaine, but he’d never been half so vengeful, feared it as a personality trait, and only accepted her warning with a tight smile.

Even Cooper had called, out of the blue, likely on behalf of his dad who had used Cooper like an emotional translator for dealing with Blaine; Cooper had yelled at Dan through half their childhood _You aren’t my real dad!_ but still respected him more than he did Blaine, and the thought made Blaine pointedly ignore the call, and the once-a-week clockwork ones which followed. Three years of silence and Blaine in a mildly risqué relationship was finally the thing that broke the ice?

He’d taken to boxing again. Sometimes, running wasn’t enough.

\--

Blaine was out jogging now, mind still on Sebastian’s pale skin and the dark trail of hair that Blaine had felt, hand flat on Sebastian’s tight torso and sliding down as they made out in his Aston Martin, Blaine straddling Sebastian’s lap and feeling like he’d float right out through the roof if Sebastian’s grip on his ass wasn’t so tight in contrast to the loose rolls of his hips that grounded him -- Blaine could taste Sebastian if he breathed right.

“Anderson!”

Blaine froze, spinning around. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard those footsteps running up behind him. It was Hunter, in jogging shorts and a tee, pulling his earbuds out. Of course, he was in Hunter’s section of the neighbourhood -- the end of the crescent where it disappeared into the thickest part of Miller’s Wood, Blaine headed for the jogging path that led up the bluff. Hunter must have had the same idea, because he drew even with Blaine and came to a stop, jogging in place to keep bloodflow going. Blaine started to slowly stretch, never taking his eyes off Hunter.

Superficially, he looked good -- tanned and fit, eyes as striking as Blaine remembered. But under those eyes the thin skin looked worn, and he held himself like he expected something. Blaine felt an instant, unwelcome, surge of sympathy and pulled his earbuds out.

“Hunter.” Blaine tried for a smile. “Welcome back.”

“Don’t try your charms on me, Anderson,” Hunter said severely. The sympathy started to slip away, as fast it had come. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“About?”

“One-oh-five.”

“Sebastian?” That sounded too casual. “Mr. Smythe?” Too formal. “Sebastian Smythe?”

“Did you sustain a brain injury while I was away?” Hunter asked scathingly. “Yes, Smythe, the tall man in the woods.”

“In the woods?”

“Yes, he’s been walking about in the woods at all hours.” Hunter shook his head. “I nearly shot him. He was burying something in the middle of the night.”

“What was it?”

“Raccoon corpses. I don’t know, maybe he’s been killing them.” Hunter waved this away as _unimportant_. Blaine felt tension steal over him. “I wanted to ask if you’ve been in his house.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“You live right next to him?” Hunter asked pointedly. “And Sugar says you’ve been screwing him six ways til Sunday.”

“I --” Blaine supposed the car move hadn’t been the most subtle. Someone was bound to see, but he hadn’t gotten half so many dirty looks as he expected for this transgression on propriety; then again, he hadn’t been out and about, shuttling between home/school/date nights like a rocket. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“Of course it isn’t and I don’t care what gay Hitchcockian fantasy you two are engaged in. But I want to know about the house.”

“It’s not exactly for sale,” Blaine said. “Sorry, Hunter, guess you’ll have to move elsewhere, far, _far_ away.”

“Funny.” Hunter stopped shifting on his feet, and stepped into Blaine’s space, using his height to crowd Blaine. Blaine held himself very still again a sharp swell of anger that overcame him. “I want to know about the basement.”

“The basement?”

“Yes. Have you been in it?”

Blaine tipped his head back, considering Hunter, the aggressive slant of his body and his curled fists, whatever Sebastian had been doing in the woods, whatever was happening right now -- a sinking sensation which was pulling his anger down into a slow simmer, Blaine’s lips thinning as he controlled his heartbeat to coolly say:

“ _No_. Now, if you don’t mind …”

Blaine stuck his earbuds back in -- “ _be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers_ ” -- and jogged too-fast into the trees, deciding to step off the path and venture deeper into the woods to shake Hunter off. Despite the thick layer of golden-red leaves which painted the forest floor, he still found himself looking for freshly turned earth, and he tried to remind himself: Hunter likes to get a rise out of people. He couldn’t afford to worry about it.

\--

_Quinn (2:32): I think I’m starting to hear things too, Blaine._

_Quinn (2:32): In the woods._

_Blaine (2:37): Go to sleep, Quinn. You’re being paranoid._

_Blaine (2:37): Things will seem less weird in the daylight._

\--

Blaine decided, while brushing his teeth, that he trusted Sebastian.

In his blue silk pyjamas, slippers on his feet, he left the house in an almost dream-like state and walked down the sidewalk between the warm pools of streetlight until he got to Sebastian’s walk, heading up it and knocking on the front door.

Sebastian answered quickly, in a t-shirt and sleep pants, towel around his shoulders catching the wet drip of his hair. His lips curved slowly when he saw Blaine, and then he stepped aside, letting Blaine come in. Blaine wandered past him, through the entryway, up the stairs, down the hall, into the master bedroom.

The wall was freshly plastered, a slatted headboard an ill disguise for it, but perfect framing for the large bed.

“What a pleasant surprise,” Sebastian drawled from behind him, and Blaine turned, tilting his head to the side as Sebastian approached, taking the towel off his own neck to loop it around Blaine’s and draw him in. Blaine went, unable to blink, unable to breathe, simply waiting for Sebastian to look at him the right way. Sebastian tugged on the towel, bringing Blaine closer as he dipped in to kiss him. When they pulled apart, Sebastian murmured, “What brings you to my bedroom tonight, Blaine?”

Hearing Sebastian say his name made Blaine jolt, hands curling around Sebastian’s hips, and he drew his gaze up through his lashes to say,

“I trust you.”

“Now that’s a mistake.” Sebastian’s eyes were dark and heavy. “When I’m done with you, you won’t be fit for anyone else.”

“I trust you,” Blaine repeated, and kissed Sebastian, nipping on his lip as he pulled away. “So show me.”

Sebastian pinned Blaine to the bed, and did just that.

\--

Sebastian brought him breakfast in bed. Blaine didn’t remember the last time he’d slept in so late as for that to be a possibility.

“You missed a lot of excitement,” Sebastian said. “That stupid dog was digging up my front lawn.”

There weren’t many dogs on the street. “Cinnamon?”

“The Motta girl’s,” Sebastian said. “She handed me a hundred and asked me not to sue while her beefhead bodyguard cracked his knuckles behind her. Truly a thrilling saga of suburban living.”

“Once she spilled wine on my couch,” Blaine said. “She bought me a whole new furniture set.”

“And it wasn’t leopard print?”

“No, she said I was all about the classic lines.” Blaine grinned as Sebastian lay down across the bed. “Did I miss anything else?”

“Did you know you snore?” Sebastian asked, propped up on his elbow. “Not a lot. Cute, little snores.”

“You’re joking,” Blaine said around a piece of French toast. “No one’s ever said I snore before.”

“I’m sure you wore out those lucky guys so quick they didn’t stand a chance of hearing it.” Sebastian smirks. “You’re something to be feared in the sack, killer. I don’t know how I kept up.”

“You did fine,” Blaine assured him. “More than fine. I’d give you a great rating on some kind of … sex rating website.”

“Now that’s a testimonial.” Sebastian drew his hand along Blaine’s leg, sticking out from the blankets. “Was there room for improvement? Or should I add ‘rocked Blaine Anderson’s world’ to my already impressive resumé?”

“Well …” Blaine grinned when Sebastian raised his eyebrows in mock-outrage. “There are some things I want to try, that we didn’t get to cover …”

“I aim to please.” Sebastian gave a final fondle to Blaine’s knee, which shouldn’t feel as good as it did, and then he sat up. “But unfortunately, I have to get into work.”

“Work? Really?” Blaine blinked. “I thought you never went in.”

“The benefits of being your own boss …” Sebastian sighed grandly. “Sadly, I have incompetency to deal with now, and I have to go in to sort it out.”

“And you’ll be back ..?”

“Missing me already?” Sebastian asked as he got to his feet. “I’ll be back in a few days. I have to travel for this.”

“I will miss you.” Blaine pouted, aiming for irresistible, and Sebastian didn’t seem unmoved. He pushed further. “Who else will give it to me like that?”

“You are a minx.” Sebastian hesitated, glancing at his watch, then back up to Blaine. “Okay. Set aside the toast, Anderson, we have half an hour to teach you something new.”

“And that is?”

“Roll over and find out.”

\--

Blaine let himself out of Sebastian’s house a great deal later, a key to his -- neighbour’s? friend’s? boyfriend’s? house -- in hand. He’d finished eating, showered, redressed in his pyjamas. On his way out, he gave into temptation and rattled the doorknob of the second bedroom; the other upstairs rooms were an office, a reading area, and a work-out room.

It was locked.

Blaine considered it, curiously, resentfully, but with the satisfaction of thorough fucking under his belt and warming his heart, he let it go and headed home so he could dress and get to school on time, hopefully.

(He didn’t, but it was worth it.)

\--

_Missed Call: Cooper Anderson, 4:50pm._

_Cooper (5:01): C’mon, baby brother, pick up the phone._

_Missed Call: Cooper Anderson, 5:30pm._

\--

Hunter was out in the woods.

Blaine watched him, breathing quietly to himself, wondering what Hunter was doing.

Burying something? Digging something up? Something else entirely?

He couldn’t figure it out, and a fear -- _I nearly shot him_ \-- rang in his head that kept him from getting any closer.

\--

_Quinn (6:01): Your brother called me._

_Blaine (6:02): You’re joking._

_Quinn (6:03): He said, and I quote, “If you get Blainey to pick up his phone I’ll mail you a signed headshot.”_

_Blaine (6:04): He’s so interfering!_

_Blaine (6:04): He leaves home, doesn’t come to my graduation, but now he thinks he can do this?_

_Quinn (6:06): Maybe he’s the only one who thinks this is a good idea._

_Quinn (6:06): Maybe you should hear him out._

_Blaine (6:07): If you want a signed headshot, Q, I can just give you one._ _It’s been my Christmas gift for three years._

\--

Blaine was at Sebastian’s, taking care of the mail while he was gone.

They’d chatted on the phone a few times -- wherever Sebastian was, it sounded quiet. He always focused the conversations on Blaine: how school was, if he felt ready for the showcase, how Pam and Dan were doing, if he wanted to get off. It was nice to have such an attentive -- neighbour -- friend -- boyfriend -- but Blaine wished Sebastian would explain what it was he did exactly, even if he’d gathered, from Sebastian’s groans and the conversations Sebastian’d had with his dad at dinner that night, it probably wasn’t the most thrilling stuff.

“I’m rich,” Sebastian had said. “What else matters?”

“Is that your favourite pick up line?”

“Well, until I really do lose some fingers …”

Blaine grinned whenever he remembered most anything Sebastian told him. He was so smart, and witty, and he always knew just what to say. Blaine could imagine talking endlessly with Sebastian, if need be.

As he watered Sebastian’s herb garden -- and it amused Blaine terribly that Sebastian had one, but he gathered Sebastian was something of a cook -- he peered out the kitchen window. He could just see the street from here, a sliver of it, and in that sliver Hunter and Sugar were doing something.

Blaine, nosy, leaned in further, and saw they were putting up posters, Hunter with his arm around a distraught Sugar.

Blaine leaned away, frowning to himself as he finished up.

\--

 

 

 

> **MISSING DOG**
> 
> Cinnamon, the sweetest puppy in the whole world!!
> 
> A morkie with silky fur and big brown eyes and a huge heart!
> 
> I love my Cinnamon, please bring him home!!
> 
> **$REWARD$: $1000**

\--

Sebastian came back in time for Blaine’s showcase.

“You’ll be wonderful,” he said, as Blaine tied his bowtie carefully. “And if you aren’t, I promise to lie about it to make you feel better.”

“No lying!” Blaine said, spinning around. “You have to be honest, okay?”

“Of course.” Sebastian leaned back against the dressing room wall. “Honestly, I’d like to blow you right now.”

“You’ll make me late for my spot.”

“I’m just being open and honest about how I’d like you to unbutton your pants and let me suck your cock,” Sebastian said, dripping with innocence, dropping to his knees. “You don’t _have_ to do anything …”

Blaine would like to say he hesitated, but really, his hands were already on his belt.

\--

After the show, riding more than one high, everyone mingling on the floor, he found Sebastian.

“You were wonderful,” Sebastian said, draping an arm around Blaine’s shoulders. He could see his fellow students watching with mingled curiosity and jealousy, and he wrapped an arm around Sebastian’s waist, grinning. “And that’s the honest truth. I think your peers might hack you up and hide you in a wall, if they ever want the spotlight.”

“Don’t think they haven’t threatened it.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Theatre kids …”

“Hey!”

“I’m sorry? Did I offend you? Have you hacked somebody up and stuffed them in a wall?”

“Well, I didn’t hide them in a wall …” Blaine ducked his head, laughing, when Sebastian pressed a kiss to his temple. “C’mon, I have dinner reservations for us.”

“Lead away, Anderson.”

\--

_Blaine (3:34): If I say something radical, will you judge me?_

_Quinn (3:37): …_

_Blaine (3:40): I think I’m in love._

_Quinn (8:06): I need more wine for this. Bring me that Zinfandel you like so much._

_Blaine (8:10): Yes ma’am._

\--

Hunter stopped Blaine on his way to Quinn’s.

“Got a hot date, Anderson?” He took in the wine bottle, Blaine’s tight red pants. “I’m sure he thinks he’s a lucky man.”

“Can’t you just say ‘He’s a lucky man’?”

“That would make me sound bicurious, which I am not.” Hunter crossed his arms. “Look, I have a favour to ask.”

“And that is?”

“Do you have a key to your boyfriend’s place?”

“I’m not giving you that,” Blaine said, eyebrows shooting up. “Are you serious?”

“I’m investigating something.” Hunter indicated the Smythe house. “But he has an alarm system in that wasn’t there when we were young.”

“Yes, because he lives there now. You’re talking about home invasion.”

“Breaking and entering, actually. I’d wait until he wasn’t home. And if you give me permission, I can say I was just dropping something off on your behalf.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you don’t want to cross me?” Hunter asked, and stepped into Blaine’s space again. Blaine tried taking a step back, but Hunter grabbed his arm, squeezing. “I’m doing this for your own good, Anderson.”

“Let me go,” Blaine said quietly, shaking slightly. “Let me go Hunter or --”

“Hey!” They turned. Sebastian was emerging from his front door, dressed in work clothes, paint dripping down the arm he was lifting to point at Hunter. “What are you doing?”

Hunter let Blaine go and stepped away, holding his hands up. “I’m having a conversation.”

“Yeah, a real pleasant one, I bet.” Sebastian rolled his eyes and with his long legs reached them before Hunter could flee -- but of course, Hunter stood his ground, being near Sebastian in height and certainly broader. Sebastian looked down his nose at Hunter all the same. “Now Blaine and I don’t have time to deal with _children_ , so why don’t you run along?”

“You’re making a big mistake,” Hunter said, to Blaine, and with a final cool look at Sebastian he crossed the street and left for the direction of his home, pausing briefly to look at the missing dog poster and shake his head. Blaine watched him go, frowning, and jumped when Sebastian curled a hand around his wrist.

“You’re shaking,” Sebastian observed. “Come inside, we’ll pop that bottle, you can unwind.”

“I’d like that,” Blaine said, sighing, trying to let go of the tight knot in his chest. “But I promised Quinn I’d be over soon.”

“Alright.” Sebastian ducked to kiss his cheek. “Maybe I’ll see you later. You know how to let yourself in, tiger. I’ll be waiting.”

Blaine smiled, and once Sebastian was safe back inside, allowed himself to panic.

\--

“ _You should talk to your brother_ ,” his dad said on the phone, out of the blue, though Blaine had half-expected it.

“I’ll talk to him when he comes home,” Blaine shot back. “I’ll talk to him in person.”

“ _Blaine_ …” his dad’s tone meant he was being unreasonable. “ _Please, think about this_.”

“I have nothing to think about. I’ve made up my mind.”

\--

The weather was turning cold, deep in the bones cold.

Halloween came and went, Sebastian taking Blaine and Quinn to a costume party downtown in an old hotel that was apparently owned by a friend of his. Quinn found herself her newest beau, this one a woman, and Sebastian chased Blaine up and down the narrow halls until he crowded him into their room of the evening. Blaine spat out cheap plastic fangs so he could groan into the pillow better, fingers curling into the sheets in little rocking clutches as Sebastian worked him over, dizzily feeling everything through the blur of drinks and dancing and the thumping of the music, downstairs, up on the roof, everything surrounding him just as Sebastian was. It was a good night, and this had never been his favourite holiday.

Even better, in steep contrast to the chill in the air, Quinn was warming up to Sebastian, Blaine’s confession no doubt playing a part in this change. She didn’t glare half so much when his name came up anymore.

“I guess you know what you’re doing,” was all she said, and Blaine felt he did.

Things with Sebastian were perfect. It was easily the most involved, the most -- mature, really, relationship he’d ever been in, even if it had only been a few months. It was everything he’d ever spent his life looking for, and Blaine didn’t care if Sebastian kept doors locked in his home or the basement remained unrefurbished or Hunter was skulking, circling, a grim omen on the outer edges of the property, always out in the woods like the carpet of leaves and skeletal trees could say something to him.

“What are you doing?” Blaine asked once, finding Hunter examining where the stream led into a weak waterfall down the hill into the valley before. Hunter didn’t look at him.

“Have you ever noticed the rocks here are stained red?”

“Hunter,” Blaine said softly. “You’re losing it. Can’t you just go home, and stop worrying about it?”

“You’ll thank me one day, Anderson.”

\--

His key to Sebastian’s place went missing, and then reappeared the next afternoon.

Blaine had left it on his desk, and found it in his jogging shorts in the downstairs laundry. He stared at it for a long time.

“We haven’t had guests, have we?” Blaine asked his mom. “Nobody’s stopped by?”

“No, I don’t think so.” His mom gave a startled gasp. “We must fix this! How about a, _Winter Don’t Be Late_ party?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

\--

_Cooper (4:50): I’m going to be in town in two weeks. Mark your calendar, baby brother._

_Blaine (4:51): I’ll believe it when I see it._

\--

It snowed, a faint coating that Sebastian and Blaine used for an excuse to crank on the fireplace in Sebastian’s grandiose living room and fuck in front of it, but it melted the next day.

“I love winter,” he told Sebastian, as they lounged in a mess of duvets on the floor. “Everything’s so peaceful, and simple, like you just found your way into a storybook.”

“You’re like something out of a storybook,” Sebastian told him, rolling over so he could hover over Blaine’s languid form, tone teasing. “My favourite fantasy.”

“I can never have a serious conversation with you, can I?” Blaine asked archly.

“I would never be so boring, I assure you.” Sebastian leaned down to kiss him, and Blaine tilted his chin up, melting into it. “I hope you know I _am_ serious about this.”

“I …” Blaine flushed, the warmth of the fireplace nothing compared to the heat those words inspired in him, his skin being written over with satisfaction. “I’m very serious about this too.”

“Good, now we’ve gotten that out of the way …” Sebastian grabbed Blaine and rolled them both over, until Blaine was on top of him. “Let’s keep celebrating the magic of snow, that awful element which forces us to cuddle up close inside with the sexiest guy we can find ...”

“That doesn’t sound so awful.”

“It’s the only benefit of winter.” Sebastian grinned lazily at him. “Sorry, Anderson, think we’re going to have to disagree on the season.”

“Mmm.” Blaine kissed Sebastian’s jaw, his throat, the wing of his collarbone. “You’ll change your mind after me and my mom’s welcome winter party next week -- uh.” Blaine stopped, where he was slowly working his way down Sebastian’s torso, peering back up at him. “Nevermind.”

“I’m _persona non grata_ at the Anderson household still, am I?”

“Kind of …” Blaine squirmed in embarrassment. He wished his mom would come around. “But I mean, you leave every month for business anyways, you’d likely miss it either way.”

“Am I that predictable?” Sebastian laughed. “Don’t worry, killer, I’ll be in town next week.”

“What? Really?”

“Of course.” Sebastian gave a non-too-subtle roll of his hips, and Blaine kept kissing his way down Sebastian’s body. “My old romantic needs to enjoy at least one date with me when the moon is full and snowflakes fill the air and, I don’t know, Barry White starts playing mysteriously from the sky.”

“Wow …” Blaine pressed his cheek against Sebastian’s thigh. “That sounds really nice.”

“Of course it does. Everything I do is really nice.” Sebastian raised an eyebrow down at him. “So if you feel like returning the favour …”

Blaine laughed, and wrapped his lips around Sebastian, sinking down.

\--

_Quinn (6:34): Something feels weird._

_Blaine (6:50): Are you okay? Do you need me to come over?_

_Quinn (6:51): I saw Hunter. At Sebastian’s. Sebastian was yelling at him._

_Quinn (6:52): It was terrifying, honestly. I thought Sebastian was going to hit him._

_Quinn (6:52): And it looks like Hunter broke in? I don’t know. He was waving something at Sebastian, Sebastian grabbed it back._

_Quinn (6:53): It looked like a shoe, Blaine. A red shoe._

_Quinn (7:29): You promised you’d listen to me, Blaine._

_Blaine (7:43): Okay Quinn. I’ll ask Sebastian about it, alright?_

_Blaine (7:50): Now what are you wearing to my mom’s party?_

\--

Blaine adjusted his black-and-white snowflake bowtie, the rest of his black/white/red outfit well set against it. He dressed his most modest and impressive, well aware that many of his neighbours had likely heard about his illicit adventures, and he had to go drop off invitations for the party the day after next.

His mom tweaked his bowtie with a fond smile when he came downstairs.

“Make sure to give Sugar a hug,” she said. “She’s very distraught about her puppy.”

The dog hadn't been found. The signs were starting to curl.

“I will, mama.” Blaine grabbed her hand, squeezing, and took a plunge. “Can I invite Sebastian?”

She pressed her lips together, a mental battle being fought in the clear field of her eyes, and then she gave a slow, reluctant nod.

“I miss talking to you about boys,” she said, pinching his cheek. “I’ll let you bring your man.”

“Thank you!” Blaine kissed her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

“The rest of the invitations, Blaine --"

"I know, I know."

Blaine bounded from the house into late sunlight, sunset on the horizon, envelopes in hand. He bumped into the Claringtons on the sidewalk, who gave him looks, and he handed them their invitation as quickly as he could. “Hunter will come too,” Mrs. Clarington said. “You two were such good friends, Blaine, you should consider his example.”

Blaine couldn’t imagine being so deluded, but politely nodded in agreement all the same. Once they were gone, he was impatiently jogging up to Sebastian’s front door and knocking.

The door swung open under his fist, unlocked. Blaine froze, then pushed his way inside.

“Sebastian?”

The house was wrong. The entryway’s end-table was toppled, and a painting hung askew on the wall further down the hall. Blaine walked in slowly, listening carefully, but he didn’t hear anything, no fighting, no footsteps, no frantic screaming from the basement. He dropped the envelopes.

In the dining room, a chair had been thrown into the china cabinet, but had only dented it, the wide moon faces of the dishes staring back unharmed. The French doors that led out back were swung wide open, and a toppled planter pot had spilled rich dark earth across the cherrywood deck. With his heart in his throat Blaine ran outside, and drawn to the gazebo, saw a streak of red across one of the support pillars.

Blaine lifted his eyes from that quiet horror, and saw that the gate out back into the woods was spread wide, an invitation to see more. Blaine hesitated, darting his eyes back to his house, to the falling night, thoughts moving to his phone, but knowing he’d left it in his bedroom. Time seemed to press how far away that was, and Blaine bolted through the gate, out into the quiet woods.

He looked around, past the army of black inky streaks that made up the trees, their grasping fingers buried in the rosy golden wash of the sky, their twisting roots providing an obstacle as he ran to the narrow point of the stream, leaping it without a second thought. His heart was beating against his ribs in a panicked pattern, and he spun when a branch snapped behind him.

Quinn emerged from the drooping branches of the willow, dressed in white cotton.

“Sebastian,” Blaine said. “His house is a mess. He’s out here.”

“Blaine …” she looked out into the thicker parts of the woods, where it led to the bluff. It was duskier, darker, there. “Are you sure about this?”

“He’s in trouble,” Blaine said. “I have to get to him.”

“I don’t know if I can support this -- it must be --”

“I don’t care.” Blaine glared at her. “You come with me, or you don’t, but I’m still going.”

Quinn sighed, then dropped her head, a quiet acceptance.

They set out into the woods together.

\--

Everything was very quiet.

Blaine listened for the last songs of determined birds, something burrowing, the rustle of leaves. But there was nothing, like it had all been frightened away, and it was just him and Quinn left to follow the silence wherever it led, leaves wet and musty underneath their shoes and making them slip a little as they raced just as quietly as the tense air around them. Minutes passed endlessly. They ended up climbing the path up the bluff, into deeper woods, following the scattered path of disturbed leaves. The sky got darker. It was well into the evening, night looming.

“There --” Quinn hissed, pointing through two maples. “It’s Clarington.”

It _was_ Hunter, and he had Sebastian backed up against a tree. Quinn and Blaine crept closer as quietly as they could, slipping behind the maples. They peered out.

Hunter had a shotgun levelled at Sebastian’s heart.

\--

“Hunter!”

Blaine and Quinn strode out, and Hunter didn’t flinch, his hold on the gun steady. Sebastian had his hands up, eyes wide and unsure, but half a smile still on his face like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. A long welt, like he'd been pistol-whipped, caressed his cheek.

“Back off, Anderson.”

“Clarington, what are you doing, this is insane!” Quinn snapped, and Hunter’s shoulder went up.

“Fabray, too. Can’t you two mind your own business like you normally do?”

“We’re not going to let you shoot Sebastian.” Quinn took a step closer. Hunter cocked his gun, and Quinn froze.

“You’re going to have to,” Hunter said. “You’ll get it in -- hmm, let’s see, moonrise is in --” he briefly glanced at his watch and then fixed his eyes on Sebastian “-- fifteen minutes, and then you’ll be begging me to put him down.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sebastian snapped. “Let me go, you psychotic, and I’ll advise treatment over jailtime.”

Blaine wished Sebastian would shut up. His voice only made Hunter more tense.

“Let him go,” Blaine begged. “You can’t be serious, Hunter!”

“I’ve never been more serious.” Hunter sighed. “Don’t you two get it? How is it everyone in this neighbourhood is so _blind_? The dead animals, the noises -- Puckerman --”

“Don’t say that name,” Quinn hissed. “Don’t --”

“The basement,” Hunter continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, “Of this freak’s house, and you know what I found there? A girl’s shoe, in blood. He’s sick. Don’t you see it?”

“Sebastian hasn’t even been living here,” Blaine said desperately. “He just moved in. He can’t be the one responsible for everything. Don’t _you_ see?”

“Blaine is right,” Quinn said. “I don’t trust him, Hunter, but even I know he can’t have done those things.”

“Gee, thanks,” Sebastian said, voice tight. “Can someone explain to me what the fuck is going on?”

“Be quiet, Sebastian,” Blaine ordered, eyes flicking nervously between him and Hunter. “Look, Hunter, I just spoke to your parents. What would they say if they saw this?”

“They’d be proud, but thanks for playing, Anderson.” Hunter looked briefly over his shoulder. Sebastian made as if to move, and Hunter swung his attention back around, jabbing the shotgun into his chest until Sebastian stilled. “Sorry, Smythe, nice try.”

There was a tense minute of silence, Blaine's eyes darting for an in, and then Quinn asked angrily,

“What are you waiting for? If you’re so sure, just shoot him!”

“But you’re not sure,” Blaine added, pleading. “You’re talking fairytales, Hunter. Just let it go and walk away before anyone gets hurt.”

“What fairytales? What is--?” Sebastian asked, eyes fixed on the gun. “Can you at least explain yourself before you shoot me?”

“What do I need to explain?” Hunter asked. “In a few minutes, you’ll explain yourself.”

“You’re deluded, Hunter --” Quinn tried, and Hunter snorted.

“You think this is my first rodeo? No. You can’t trust these types. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again, to keep people safe.” He sounded almost amused as he told Sebastian, “You’ve been to my house, Smythe -- my parents have a nice wolfskin rug. It might be time to get them a new one.”

Sebastian seemed to finally piece it together, and made a noise of disbelief.

“You can’t think I’m a --” Sebastian made an odd, strangled sound as Hunter pressed the shotgun deeper. “You’re insane.”

“Please, Hunter.” The air was charged. Blaine couldn’t breathe. “This isn’t going to end well.”

“If I’m as big and bad as you think I am,” Sebastian said, tone inching into desperation, “What makes you think you can even kill me?”

“Because I have the drop on you,” Hunter said smugly. “The one on the business end of the gun never has the upper hand.”

“Well,” Quinn said, voice cold, “Neither does the idiot who turns his back on people.”

“I’m not scared of you two,” Hunter said dismissively. “Besides --” he glanced at his watch again “-- it’s showtime.”

“You’re right.” Blaine sighed regretfully, and began to tug his bowtie loose. “It really is.”

The full moon rose. Sebastian made a horrified, choked whimper. Clothes tore.

Hunter didn’t have time to turn around before Blaine and Quinn pounced in a whirl of fur and teeth.

\--

_I say "wolf," but there are various kinds of wolves. There are also those who are charming, quiet, polite, unassuming, complacent, and sweet ... And unfortunately, it is these gentle wolves who are the most dangerous ones of all._

[Little Red Riding Hood, Charles Perrault]

\--

Sebastian watched from his front porch as Blaine said goodbye to the police officers, rubbing his arm absentmindedly.

They’d been up and down the street all morning, canvassing. Hunter Clarington, looking like he’d been the victim of a brutal attack, had rolled out onto the highway last night. Dead. Sebastian’s time with them had been short, since he was so new to the neighbourhood, but they’d been at Blaine’s for a good half-hour.

Now Blaine was offering them a plate of snickerdoodles, smiling and pleasant, and they accepted them before tipping their hats and leaving for the next house.

Blaine looked over, and seeing Sebastian, broke into a beaming smile. In the sunshine, he looked much the same as ever. Sebastian looked away and retreated inside. Five minutes later, there was a knock on his door. Sebastian, despite himself, answered. Blaine smiled up at him, the plate of cookies in hand, eyes crinkling.

“Hey neighbour,” he said, stepping inside with a flirty look. “I made you something.”

“Did they guess?” Sebastian asked, nerves he’d never known he had jumping under his skin while Blaine’s pleasant smile froze. “Did they think you had something to do with it?”

“Now why would they think that?” Blaine disappeared toward the kitchen, and Sebastian followed, watching as Blaine set the cookies down. They did look good. “They didn’t think _you_ helped, did they?”

“I didn’t help _shit_ , Blaine.” Sebastian held his breath, but Blaine only gave him a hurt look, eyes wide and unsure. “Jesus. You killed him. You killed Hunter. You and Quinn are -- you and Quinn _killed_ him.”

Blaine looked puzzled, as if Sebastian hadn’t seen his fangs. It was like his sheep’s clothing, grandma’s skin, had dropped to the ground. The red bowtie nestled against his throat, once nothing more than a tempting target to unwrap, was now a threat -- a sign of something so beautiful and rare and deadly, it needed bright colours to protect others from its taste. And Sebastian had treated it like a harmless curiosity.

“He was going to kill you, or me, or her.” Blaine held his hands open. “I don’t like it, but it’s only natural to protect your family.”

 _Family is important_ , Blaine had said. Sebastian hadn’t realized how seriously he took it. _Pack_.

“So the basement? You know the story of that, do you?” Sebastian hadn’t been able to go back into there, since last night, even though he felt it drawing him. _Curiosity killed the cat_ … that’s where he’d caught Hunter, before Hunter had shown up with a gun. “What the hell happened in my house, Blaine?”

“I’m a natural born wolf,” Blaine said, so simply, but slightly abashed. “I’ve never had to think about it, and I never hurt anyone. But Quinn -- she met a boy. Puckerman.” The cops had brought that name up too -- Sebastian wasn’t surprised by the connection. “She trusted him, and he bit her, he changed her; he had no idea what he was doing. I found her in the basement …” the mutilated wall filled in his silence. “I got so angry, Sebastian. I’m not proud to admit it. But there are some things we’re not supposed to do, and he was a danger.”

“So law of the jungle? Judge, jury, executioner?”

“It’s different in my world.” Blaine rubbed his face. “And when you’re the wolf you don’t think, not the same way. You just … live.”

"And Sugar's puppy?"

"I don't know ..." Blaine glanced down, biting his lip. "Most dogs just run away. But ... I may have."

The uncertainty of having killed. Sebastian let out a sharp noise.

“You may have. You did. And now that Clarington kid is dead.” Sebastian looked away. He wasn’t sure how he felt. What Blaine had said was true -- they could have all died, last night, and he hadn’t forgotten the feeling of a gun between his ribs. _You think this is my first rodeo_. He wondered how many Blaine Andersons out there had been killed. He wondered if he should be sympathetic or glad. He knew he’d lean to the former if he looked at Blaine too long. “And now I’m …”

Blaine’s face crumpled, eyebrows drawing together as he nodded slowly, eyes fixed to Sebastian's arm.

“I’m sorry. I think Quinn wanted to guarantee your loyalty. Make you one of us. She thought you were a hunter, you know … if we’re ever exposed …”

Sebastian looked down at his arm, where under his dress shirt it was wrapped up in white, and yet underneath that a semi-circle of a bite from a snapping kiss, a future he’d never be able to run away from.

“I have no idea …” Sebastian swallowed. He felt like crying, and he’d been even younger than Blaine when he’d last done that. “I feel like my life is over. You -- Quinn --”

“We’ll be here for you,” Blaine said. He approached carefully, like Sebastian was a startled deer that needed calming. (But he wasn't prey anymore. He'd never even _known_ he was prey.) “I’d do anything for you, Sebastian.”

And the worst part was, Sebastian knew it to be true. Every single thing he hadn’t thought twice about -- dead raccoons on his back porch like a gift, Blaine draped over his bed like an invitation, the way Blaine looked at him, so utterly guileless, while he took everything Sebastian had to give, the way his teeth had buried into his shoulder while they fucked but never broken skin, the feeling Sebastian had never been able to shake that Blaine was waiting for Sebastian to unwrap him further --

Sebastian drew in a shaky breath. Blaine smiled hesitantly. He, truthfully, was very beautiful, even with blood on his hands.

“My brother will be here next week,” Blaine said, when Sebastian said nothing. “You can talk to him too. It’s really about community, Sebastian. You’ll never be alone again.”

Sebastian wondered if he could run. Sebastian wondered if Blaine would chase him. Sebastian wondered if he wanted to run, if he wanted Blaine to chase him. He wondered if there was an objective way to measure trust.

“I’ll leave you to think about it.” Blaine kissed him, sweet and uncomplicated, and it felt right. Sebastian’s body was no longer his own, and yet he felt more himself than ever. “I’m right next door if you need me.”

“Blaine --” Sebastian struggled for something as Blaine paused, watching him brightly. “How do I …” he fell silent. Blaine waited patiently, but he couldn’t say any more.

“I’ll bring you some dinner,” Blaine decided. “Tonight. And if you don’t mind …” Blaine went to the freezer, pulling it open and bringing out a ziploc bag that contained the dainty shoe in old blood, a terrible, pretty thing. “I’ll return this to Quinn. I can’t believe Hunter found it, we’ve been looking forever … but that whole basement smells like her ...”

Sebastian nodded blankly, mind struggling around the shape of this. There was nothing more reassuring than Blaine being Blaine, running around like energy incarnate, looking after people, careful and clever and -- kind. Sebastian rubbed his arm. He needed to prove this wasn’t the end of everything. He didn’t want it to be the end of everything. He’d worked too hard for all he had, and it was no shock to realize Blaine was top of that list.

“Stay,” Sebastian suddenly blurted. Blaine looked up at him breathlessly. “I want you to see something.”

“I’d like that.” Blaine set the bag down. “It’s not your second bedroom, is it?” His eyes were alight

“Yeah.” Sebastian let Blaine go first, back to him. Blaine didn’t mind, bouncing a little in excitement. “It’s a studio. For painting.”

A silly secret that couldn't measure up to the one in front of him, but he had to offer something.

“Will you paint me?” Blaine asked, glancing over his shoulder, lashes down. “Draw me like of your French girls?”

Sebastian already had, warm eyes and a fetching smile, his muse who had so transformed that now he wanted to dash red across all those grinning mouths. He wondered if he could explain himself to Blaine, and maybe understand who -- what -- he was now in turn. It might not be the right choice, but he needed to make it, dig out a new future.

Sebastian had chased that wolf into the woods, he’d invited it into his house, and now he had to follow it wherever it might lead, because he was that wolf, and this wolf was his.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> [TUMBLR LINK](http://boldmistakes.tumblr.com/post/126224039331/save-your-heart-take-your-soul-seblaine-11)


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